Cheap
by toujourspret
Summary: Unabashed genderswitch smut written for the Death Note anon kink meme--Mello uses girl!Matt's body to curry favor with the mob.


**Cheap**

It's not that she ever really thought this was a good idea, but when Mello'd looked at her with that wry smile and warm hands pressed over her biceps as he asked unthinkable favors, his hair brushing her throat and his lips brushing her earlobe as he pleaded, well. She'd never really stood a chance, had she? And he'd known it, known just how to play her and her pathetic crush on him, and he always had known it, even since they were children and he'd talked her into dark corners, talked her into letting him touch her breasts, talked her into letting him lift her skirt and touch her, talked her into sloppy, inexperienced blowjobs and sneaking around, trying not to get caught by Roger.

When she'd first gotten there, Mello had played his role up as the Mafia boss, played her up—"Hey, guys, this is Matt, my best friend." His best friend, as if he'd had so many people willing to drop everything and forge a passport, skip over the Atlantic Ocean as if it were a puddle, come sit by his knee because he'd beckoned. Maybe he did, though; he was so good at manipulating her, after all. They'd lain in his bed and kissed and fumbled and she'd laughed about the members of his gang, with their names like the villains on _Captain Planet_ and their rough faces and their rougher personalities. She'd pretended she hadn't noticed the weeping bandages or later the thick brown scabs covering half his body, and he'd pretended she was the only girl he was fucking around with, even if he came back stinking of cheap perfume and cheaper pussy.

It isn't until later, when the scabs have peeled away to reveal shiny pink wrinkled scars that she begins to understand just how tenuous his hold over them is. When Zakk slaps her ass and Mello looks away, when Glen pinches her inner thigh in a way that makes her want to puke, when the jokes get rougher and the language coarser and the hand gestures cruder…. It's stunning to realize that he can't do anything to protect her. Won't do anything to protect her. And then he asks….

Which is how she got where she is now, squirming on the threadbare sofa with Ill Ratt's dirty hands clutching at her thigh, feeling gross even through the denim of her jeans, with Zakk toying with her hair and carefully peeling away the goggles she's always hidden behind. Mello's perched on a milk crate opposite, and all she can see as someone forces her hand down into his pants is the calm, slightly cool expression on his face. The cock surges hot and sweaty against her nervous palm, and the others seem to take her shock as acquiescence. Someone peels her black and white shirt over her head and someone cups her through her jeans and she is lost, lost, lost, swimming in a pile of huge men who have so much power over her.

A hand curls tightly in her hair and leads her down to a waiting cock. She wrinkles her nose, tries to pull away, but the grip is insistent—Mello's _eyes_ are insistent—and she reluctantly opens her mouth, listening to the man groaning overhead. There are thick fingers working down the zipper of her jeans, tugging them to her knees and ripping at her thin cotton panties. She shivers in the cold and in disgust and in mortification as the fingers dip inside of her, prodding in exploration as if the owner had never seen a girl—a real, live _girl_!—up close before. There's a low chuckle—"Damn, that's a fine ass!"—and a tongue on the back of her thigh, fingers just a little too large pinching as they push into her.

"You've been keeping all this sweetness to yourself, man!"

"Pity she ain't got no tits, though." Hands cup her chest through her bra, pinch her nipples roughly, smash them firmly against her rib cage. "She's got enough to do," someone else says, and tears prickle in Matt's eyes when Mello doesn't respond. She's not sure what she wants him to say. She's afraid of what he would say. She still wants him to say _something_.

"Surely you're not just going to play with her all day? You want to fuck her, right?" Mello's voice cuts through the pandemonium, leaving Matt stunned. She sucks harder and tries not to cry. There's laughter, a hand dragging her leg to the side to expose her more fully, a long tongue stroking from her clit to the base of her spine and making her shiver. The hand on the back of her head presses down and she chokes, pushing against his solid body with both hands for air. A thick cock head presses against her, then in, and even though she's blown a couple of guys at Wammy's, hidden in closets or kneeling beside beds or bent over in backseats, this is the first time she's been fucked by someone who isn't Mello.

He's bigger than Mello, and she's not particularly aroused by what's going on, so the friction hurts until she lifts wet eyes to see Mello watching her pierced on both ends like some kind of porn star. His eyes are dark, pupils blown, and when she swallows convulsively at the expression on his face, the man she's sucking curses and comes with a groan. She pulls back and there's come all over her, streaking through her hair and dripping down her cheeks and smeared across her skin like war paint. The man behind her squeezes her hips hard enough to bruise, and suddenly she's more than wet enough to keep going.

The next cock to fill her is longer than the last one—longer than Mello, too—though not as thick or blunt as either. Its owner is more enthusiastic than the last one, shaking her whole body as he fucks himself with her. She's still watching Mello, the world quaking and darkening at the edges. Everything tilts out of order when the guy behind her wraps his arms around her and lifts, pulling her back on top of him and moving down to hold her thighs open. It's a weird position, and nothing clicks until the last one—she's never really bothered to learn his name, Rashid or something—crawls on top, covering her whole breast with his mouth. His thick cock presses in against her and her flesh crawls where she's pressed against the men.

"Uh, there's someone already in there!" she stammers, ashamed of the way her voice cracks and sounds panicky.

"Yeah," is the only response. He begins to push forward and she shrieks, pushing vainly at his chest.

"Mello? Mello, _help me_!" she squeals, drawing her knees to her chest to push. The world is fuzzy with panic and sweat and tears, and as she closes her eyes tight against it, she sees Mello, still on the crate.

When she opens them again, she can tell some time has passed. She's sore and sticky all over, flakes of dried semen crackling on her skin when she moves. Her clothes are torn, heaped at the end of the sofa, and Mello is sitting with her, her head in his lap as he pets her hair.

"Mels?" Her voice is crackly from fellatio, but he pauses, brushing a hand along her ribs.

"You did good," he says, and irrationally, some part of her swells in pride at the praise.

"You owe me. You owe me so goddamned much you're gonna be paying it off forever," she tells him in a tight voice, dragging herself up to lean on his shoulder.

"I know."

"No, you owe me so goddamned much your _kids_ are gonna be paying it off, and _their_ kids too, probably."

"It worked, though. You did good. Gave them exactly what they wanted, so now they'll leave us alone and we can get this thing done."

"Gave them—! Jesus Christ, Mels, what about me? What about what _I_ wanted?"

"What did you want?" She shivers and looks away as he wraps an arm around her. He strokes the side of her face with a finger. "Matt? Mattie, you were really fantastic. You really helped a lot today. I won't ever be able to thank you enough." She turns her face up into his and he kisses her slowly, sweetly, a hand drifting down to her hip. The leather of his gloves sticks slightly to her sweaty skin, and she whimpers as he rubs his thumb over the bruises on her hips, then dips fingertips between her thighs.

Somehow, this feels dirtier than servicing the other men. The leather moves sweet-slick through her folds, soothing the rough stretch from earlier and calling up a warm spooling low in her belly. She's mad at him; she wants to be mad at him, but it's so hard to do when he touches her like this, like he knows her body as well as she does and all he wants is for her to feel good. She pants against his lips as he strokes her, fingertips snuggling little circles around her clit before plunging inside—she's stretched enough for three of them, which is new—and back again.

"Mello—!" she cries, voice cracked and whispery and completely worn out, and he wraps her in his arms carefully when she starts to cry. She shouldn't trust him as much as she does, love him as blindly as she does, but she can't help it, and she can't help but wonder how it's going to get her killed one day.


End file.
